Fatal Connection (4 page)

The chief scientist of Tight End Recycling Facility – an outer called Caroline Seventeen – pointed to a metallic contraption, about the same height as Troy, and said proudly, ‘This is state-of-the-art. As far as I’m aware, it’s the best available technology in the country for removing and capturing mercury. No other processor comes close. It makes recycling easy.’

The grey box, about a metre wide and another metre deep, had several digital monitors and control buttons on the front. A large silvery chimney was
attached to the top. The shiny vent rose vertically and disappeared into the roof of the building.

‘It’s a retort, basically,’ Caroline explained. ‘A hi-tech incinerator. It burns any household item containing mercury – thermometers, fluorescent lamps, LCD screens and flat-screen TVs are the main ones – and filters organic gases from the waste stream. A highly efficient condenser and cold trap captures the mercury. Over ninety-nine per cent of it.’

‘And then what happens to it?’ Troy asked.

‘The recovered metal’s completely sealed in a safe receiver. We sell it to companies that need it to make new products.’

‘What’s your safety record like? Any accidental release of mercury in the last week or two?’

‘Our record’s perfect,’ she claimed proudly. ‘It has to be. The whole process happens under a slight vacuum so, if there’s any leak, air goes in and contaminated air doesn’t come out. We monitor performance at all stages, twenty-four seven. We keep all the data if you want to see it.’

Lexi said, ‘I get all that. It’s impressive, but it can’t be as clean and easy as you make out. If the lamps and screens aren’t broken, perhaps it’s all smooth. But what if someone’s getting rid of a broken thermometer
or a cracked computer screen? The mercury’s already leaking.’

At once, Caroline realized that Lexi was a forensic scientist. She launched into a lecture. ‘As long as the integrity of the item isn’t compromised, recycling’s straightforward, as you suggest. We’ve got different procedures in place to deal with samples that aren’t intact. First, the owner places the damaged device in one of our recycling containers and then we look after it from that point. All my workers are fully trained, have the highest level safety equipment, and they’re monitored for signs of mercury contamination. We’ve got an outstanding health and safety record, fully approved by the relevant environmental agency and complying with all regulations for processing hazardous waste.’

Troy smiled. Clearly she had delivered exactly the same message many times to clients, visitors and the environmental authorities.

‘Who’s he, over there?’ Lexi asked, pointing to a worker in a fluorescent yellow jacket. The man was taller than Lexi but he had the same short hair, somewhere between silver and blonde.

‘Jon Drago Five,’ Caroline replied. ‘In charge of the distribution of recovered mercury.’

‘Perhaps he could join us,’ Troy suggested.

The chief scientist called over the brown-eyed outer.

‘You might be able to help us,’ Troy said. ‘I was about to ask where the mercury goes from here.’

‘We have a safe collection point at that end of the building,’ Jon answered, waving to the right. ‘That’s my domain. A fleet of secure vans carry sealed, impact-proof containers to their destinations. That’s when it’s out of our hands and under the control of a manufacturer.’

‘Do you go out on deliveries?’

He shook his head.

Caroline added, ‘You’ve only gone out on a run if you’ve needed to discuss something with the business it’s going to.’

‘That’s true,’ Jon agreed.

‘Do you keep a log? I guess you must do,’ said Troy.

‘The regulations are clear. We have to account for every gram – where it goes and when.’

‘Have you been to – or through – Pickling in the last couple of weeks? If you’re not sure, consult the log.’

‘I don’t need to,’ Jon replied. ‘I know we haven’t made any deliveries there for a while.’

‘Is there any point in the process where mercury
could go missing and you wouldn’t know about it?’ Troy asked.

Caroline and Jon exchanged a glance. ‘Look,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m well aware of our responsibility to keep mercury out of the environment. I’m well aware of what can happen if someone gets sloppy, especially if it leaks into water and gets into the fish and water-borne creatures that majors eat. There was a case in Japan – a coastal fishing town. A factory dumped methylmercury – extremely poisonous – in the sea. Children and unborn babies are particularly sensitive to it. It was tragic. Hundreds died. People who ate the local seafood – and the ones who ate meat from animals fed on the local fish – lost control of their bodies. So did their pets and feeding birds. That’s the effect of methylmercury on the brain. Half of them died and major women gave birth to horribly deformed children. It’s said – I don’t know how true it is – that some babies were born without brains. So, yes, everyone at TERF takes their duties very seriously.’

Jon said, ‘Once we hand a consignment over to the end client, though, it’s their responsibility, not ours.’

‘But,’ Caroline added quickly, ‘I vet my entire workforce
and
the destination businesses. They’ve got
all the necessary licences. I make sure we don’t have any rogues at any point in the chain.’

‘So, you don’t mind giving me a list of employees and clients?’

‘I’ll send it to your life-logger within twenty-four hours.’

‘Thanks,’ Troy said. ‘One final thing.’ He lifted up his life-logger and showed the victims’ pictures. ‘Do either of you know these people? Richard Featherstone, Miley Quist, Alyssa Bending and Keaton Hathaway.’

The two outers both shook their heads.

Looking into Jon Drago Five’s face, Troy said, ‘Sure?’

He turned his head away, covered his mouth with his hand and coughed loudly. Then he replied, ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

Loose End was smaller and sleepier than its sibling town. Built beside a river, the quaint village seemed to be a place where nothing really happened. Behind it, a range of hills rose up impressively, almost vertically, dwarfing the village. Once popular with climbers, the rock face was riddled with caverns. It was topped by Loose End Edge. Further along, waterfalls plunged over the peaks and splashed into pools and rivers below.

Lexi looked up at Loose End Edge and said, ‘If I lived around here, I’d be hang-gliding from there. Fantastic – jumping off and just drifting in the sky. I’ve always fancied being an instructor. Nice job.’

Distracted, Troy watched a grey squirrel running drunkenly along the branch of a roadside tree, until he lost sight of it in the foliage.

Loose End Sports lay between the village and its bigger partner, Tight End. Its facilities attracted clients from both places – and from further afield. Just inside the main entrance to the gym, indoor climbing centre, running track and velodrome, Troy spoke to a formidable-looking receptionist. She looked at the photo on Troy’s life-logger carefully and then shook her head. ‘I don’t forget faces. Not a single one. As I don’t know hers, she’s certainly not been here while I’ve been on duty. Miley Quist is her name, you say.’ She scrolled down a list of members on her monitor. ‘Just as I thought. Not a member. Sorry. I can’t help you.’

‘As your memory for faces is so good, what about these three?’ Troy said, showing the other victims.

‘No. Definitely not.’

‘That’s that, then,’ Lexi murmured.

‘Thanks,’ Troy said to the receptionist.

Hesitating before they left the sports centre, Lexi
told her partner, ‘And the bad news just keeps rolling in. The local hotels, bed and breakfast places and that sort of thing have no record of an overnight stay by anyone called Alyssa Bending and no one recognized her face.’

‘Let’s go back to headquarters,’ Troy suggested. ‘It’ll be late before we get there.’

Lexi shrugged. ‘Doesn’t bother me. I’ll meditate on the way. You could try to get some sleep.’

‘It’s too early. Anyway, my brain’s full of the case, back at that crossroads, working out what to do next.’

‘Huh. You should learn to turn off and then back on again. It works wonders.’

After her second bout of meditation in the fast-moving car, Lexi’s mind was particularly sharp. She took her life-logger in her hands and typed madly.

‘What’s up?’ Troy asked.

‘That hair at Keaton Hathaway’s place. I think there’s something else I can do with it. Not one of the routine tests. Something more … experimental. I’m sure I heard about a new method. Yes. Here it is. ‘Determining where people live by measuring the ratios of oxygen and hydrogen isotopes in their tissues.’ And, yes, it includes hair.’

‘How does that work? Or won’t my feeble major
brain understand it even after you’ve explained it?’

‘Well, I’ll do my best to get it through to you despite your deficiencies.’ She speed-read the article she’d found and then cleared her throat. ‘When you live somewhere, your body absorbs chemicals from the water and food. You are what you eat. The ratio of isotopes oxygen-sixteen and oxygen-eighteen are different in different places. Same with hydrogen and deuterium. The plants, insects and farm animals we eat absorb the same pattern of isotopes so, as long as you eat mainly local food and drink local water, you get the same ratios in your body. In other words, the chemicals provide a tell-tale signature in your tissues.’

‘There’s a way of measuring these isotopes, then?’

‘Mass spectrometry.’

‘If you did it on my hair and yours, could you tell that you live in one Shepford zone and I live in another?’

‘No chance. We’re too close. Our water would come from the same source. But it’d easily tell different countries apart and different regions of the same country. It’d be good to know which region that male outer came from, wouldn’t it?’

‘Sure would. But what if he travels around a lot or only drinks bottled water?’

‘That would be the end of that. It’s got to be someone who eats quite a bit of local food and drinks loads of local water – from a tap. Then I just compare the two isotope ratios in the hair with a database of the same ratios from different parts of the country – and overseas. If there’s a match, hey presto, we know the region where he eats and drinks.’

‘Nice idea. Shiveringly good idea. What’s stopping you from cracking on with it?’

Lexi frowned and glanced theatrically round the inside of the automatic car. ‘It’s not equipped with a mass spectrometer and I forgot to bring the hair sample.’

Troy rolled his eyes. ‘I meant, calling the forensic department and getting them on the job.’

‘It’s not a recognized method. I’m going to have to work out how best to do it with some specialists when we get back. And I’m thinking about trying another test as well.’

Troy nodded. ‘Something useful for you to do while I’m tucked up in bed.’

‘What’s your busy brain come up with so far?’

‘We’re still on the nursery slopes of this investigation. I want to ask Richard Featherstone’s mates where he was on the weekend of the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of April. We need to check
out Jon Drago Five – just in case. And I’d like to visit the insect farm where Keaton Hathaway worked.’

Lexi licked her lips. ‘Now you’re talking.’

‘Hi, Gran. It’s me.’

‘Late again,’ Troy’s grandma replied. It wasn’t a criticism, just a fact.

‘Sorry.’

‘Your dad was the same. Working all hours of the night and day.’ She stopped herself and glanced at Troy.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I … er … talked about him today – and about Mum. To Lexi. It felt right.’

‘Lexi, eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Still working with the same girl, then?’

‘Yes. Still getting on well.’

Grandma frowned. ‘It’s working with an outer that keeps you away from home. That’s what I think anyway. They work around the clock so you think you’ve got to follow suit. But you don’t. You can’t. You need your sleep.’

‘Lexi ribs me about it, but she knows. It’s not her fault I’m late, Gran. It’s the case. We’ve just got back from Loose End.’

‘Oh. There’s something I’ve got to tell you, honey. Watch yourself by the back door.’

‘Why?’

‘The drain from the kitchen sink got blocked. When I was clearing it, a rat came up out of the sewer. I called someone.’

‘And they put poison down?’

‘Yes. Nasty stuff. We mustn’t touch it.’

‘Okay.’

‘So, where’s Loose End?’

‘Way up on the north coast. A few hours away.’

‘Couldn’t they get some local people to deal with it?’ She smiled at him and added, ‘I know you’re the best and all that, but surely there’s someone up north who can do the job.’

‘It’s a weird case, Gran. Some of it’s here in
Shepford. The rest is anywhere from Hoops – near the south coast – to Loose End. I’ll be travelling a lot.’

‘Oh. Well, it’s good to get around. Nice to see somewhere different. Like going on holiday.’

Troy grinned. ‘It doesn’t feel like a holiday.’

Grandma didn’t ask for any details. Over the years, she’d had enough of hearing about police work. She’d had enough of tragedies. She heaved herself out of her armchair. ‘Never mind. Come into the kitchen. There’s something for you in the oven.’

Remembering how Lexi had reacted to the idea of visiting an insect farm, Troy licked his lips. ‘Now you’re talking.’

Lexi welcomed her partner back to work with a grimace. ‘There’s a hitch with the isotope analysis.’

‘But you’re a forensic genius. I thought you’d tell me where the man with the hair lived as soon as I walked through the door.’

‘It’s not straightforward. But I’ve briefed the experts and they’ve got the hair. They’ll do it as soon as they can. There’s another issue with it, though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The legal people are studying it. They reckon the result might not be presentable in court because it’s
not a recognized forensic test. It’s not been validated for use in law.’

‘That fits,’ Troy said with a sigh. ‘But the result will still be useful to us.’

‘Yeah. That’s why I told them to go ahead anyway.’

Troy gazed at her face for a moment and said, ‘Being the perceptive one, I think you’re bursting to tell me more. You’ve given me the bad news first and now you’re going to cheer me up with something fantastic.’

‘Huh. Not fantastic, but interesting.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the same hair.’

‘It’s amazing what forensics can get from one tiny strand.’

‘Yeah. I checked it for mercury concentration and did some comparisons. My hair contains four parts per million of mercury. Almost nothing. I’m not dying of mercury poisoning. Keaton Hathaway’s hair is 705 parts per million – or ppm as us scientists call it. That’s extreme. No wonder the mercury killed him. I measured the hair in his diary at 165 ppm of mercury.’

‘An in-between figure.’

‘So, you’re not a complete dud at maths. Yes. It’s an outer who’s been around mercury quite a lot.’

Troy nodded. ‘Interesting.’

‘Yeah. That’s what I said.’

‘Nice work.’

‘If we’re looking at murder – if it was deliberate – I still don’t know why the bad guy opted for mercury, though. It’s a strange choice.’ Lexi hesitated, thinking, before she carried on. ‘I mean, everything’s a poison. It’s not so much about what gets into your body. It’s more about how much gets in. We all die if we drink too much water or swallow enough salt. No matter what it is, if it’s more than your body can cope with, you’re poisoned. So, if you were going to poison someone, there are better ways of doing it. Much easier than mercury. Like poisons that kill in such tiny amounts that they don’t leave a trace.’

‘You’re on fire today.’

‘I hope not.’

‘Me, I’m struggling with motive,’ Troy admitted. ‘Why those four people?’

‘Maybe this just adds up to an accident – a miniversion of the Japanese mercury pollution story that Caroline Seventeen told us about.’

‘And it killed people in Shepford, Pickling, Pullover Creek and Hoops?’

‘Yeah. Okay. We’re still looking for the fatal connection.’

‘Talking of Hoops …’

Lexi nodded. ‘A round of golf with Richard Featherstone’s friends?’

‘Exactly.’ Troy paused before adding, ‘And talking of people who work at Tight End Recycling Facility …’

‘We need to run that check on Jon Drago Five.’

‘Come on. We can start it on the way.’